Like everything else that fucks up Eggsy's life, it happens too suddenly for him to actually do anything about it. One moment he's out with his mates getting a pint to drink – next he's being fucking arrested with little word about what the fuck he's done now.
"You don't know what you's done? Let me tell you, boy," Dean says, when they graciously let his fucker of a stepdad in to see him. "You gone and killed your mum, you bastard. I found her, just a couple hours back – dead. In a pool of her own blood. And you're not even fucking sorry, are you."
"What the fuck are you on about?" Eggsy asks – gapes, trying to catch up. "Where's mum?"
"Dead," Dean says, cutting, that fucking look in his eyes which would've meant bruises and bleeding if they were home – if they weren't sitting under a two way mirror, for all the fucking cops to see. "Dead, you hear me? Because you fucking killed her. Because you got high and you fucking beat her to death."
Eggsy opens his mouth and lets out a garbled sound of what the fuck. "Mum is – what? What?! Where's the baby?" he then asks, almost catching up with that – fuck. "Dean, where's my baby sister – where's Daisy?"
Dean fucking grins at that.
According to him – and according to the cops – Eggsy was high that morning. According to them, he went and lost it. Something about the baby making noise, grating on his nerves. Good thing he didn't take it out on the helpless fucking infant, they say – his mum stood in the way. So he took it out on her. And the baby probably shut up at some point because apparently he left it at that, left Michelle lying dead just next to the crib. Dead.
His mother is fucking dead.
Dean was the one who found her, who called the cops and who, of course, pointed a helpful finger in Eggsy's direction with numerous anecdotes about breaking and entering, and couple of battery charges, and drug related arrests.
And Eggsy can't even fucking say anything – because in the morning, when the time of death says his mother died, he'd been in a slightly fancier part of the city. Breaking and entering, among other thing. He'd been with a couple of his mates and sure, he could use that as an alibi that he hadn't been anywhere near his mum when she'd… except he can't because fuck it, he's no fucking snitch and his mates got it just as bad as he does.
Except not as bad because fuck, they're not facing decades in jail for a murder they'd not done, were they? No, that's just Eggsy, staring flat with disbelief at Dean who he bets still has her blood under his fucking finger nails – who's just grinning at him and getting away with it. Getting away with him and murder both.
Eggsy's mum is fucking dead and her loving husband is fucking grinning.
"Now, Eggsy," the cop, whatshisname, says. "There's no doubt that you're going away for a long time, but we can help you – we can make it little less bad. You've been involved in a lot of shit over the years, a lot of trouble. Now would be a good time to come clean with all of it. Clean with some names."
"Fuck you," Eggsy answers, staring at the two way mirror. He can just see his own reflection and it looks pale as fuck – his eyes blown wide open, his hair askew, where the fuck did his cap go? The hell does it even matter. He's fucked and he looks like it.
He's fucked, his mother's dead and fuck, he doesn't even know where Daisy is.
"Where's the baby?" he asks, turning to the cop. "Where my sister? And don't you fucking tell me you're leaving her with 'im."
"Why? Should we leave her with you instead, so you can kill her too?" the fucker asks.
They are – they fucking are. Dean's getting away with it and they're leaving Daisy with him. Like she'd survive a fucking month with the bastard as her caretaker. Fuck, she probably won't make it that far. And there's nothing Eggsy can do because his mum is dead and somehow fucking Dean is calling all the shots and there's nothing he can do.
"I want to exercise my right to a phone call," Eggsy says.
"You really got someone to call?" the cop asks, but stands up. "Tell your mates you won't be there for your next job, then."
And fuck it, Eggsy doesn't have anyone to call – who the fuck could help him with this? Even if his mum would've been… fuck. And no one he knew had the clout or the money – or the fucking inclination – to do anything about this. There's fucking no one. Eggsy lets out a sigh and runs a hand over his face and then pulls the ancient mobile closer, staring at it. There's nothing. There's no one.
His mum is dead and his baby sister is going to her murderer and he can do fucking nothing about it.
"Fuck it," he mutters and more in desperation than anything even resembling actual hope, he takes out the medallion he never goes without.
Years he's been carrying the thing and memorising every contour of it – the last thing he had left of his dad, more so now these days, after Dean's gone and destroyed everything else. Eggsy knows the number on the back by heart now. But he still turns it around, and checks it over, just in case. Better not fuck it up, now that he's finally doing it. A hundred times he almost had, but now, now it fucking matters.
121997. The day his dad died.
A more concrete gesture of gratitude, that was what the guy said. A favour. It was supposed to be his mum's choice, what the favour was going to be, except she slapped it away. And so the medallion had been handed to Eggsy instead.
He should've called it before, that first day Dean beat his mum black and blue – should've called it back then. Should've done a lot of things.
"Customer complaints, how may I help you?"
"Um. My name is Eggsy Unwin – Gary Unwin," Eggsy stammers, horrified. Fuck, they hadn't quit somewhere over the years, had they? The number gone to someone else? Fuck goddamn it. Still, it's his last fucking phone call, so he pushes ahead because… what else can he do? "And I'm, I'm fucked. My stepdad gone and killed my mum and they're gonna pin it on me, and Daisy – my baby sister's – gonna go to 'im, and she's probably gonna die too and –"
"I'm sorry, sir," the customer complaints person says. "You have the wrong number.
"Fuck, wait, wait," Eggsy says quickly, and tries to remember. What was that the posh git said? He used to remember it – said it a lot when he was a brat. "Uh, oxfords not brogues?"
The customer complaints person waits for a moment and then says. "Your complaint has been duly noted," she says. "And we hope that we have not lost you as a loyal customer."
And then she hangs up.
Fuck. His last fucking chance and he went and wasted it hoping for a fucking miracle – he should've called Ryan, anybody, asked them to see if they could look after Daisy because Eggsy… well, Eggsy wasn't going to be around to do it himself, now, was he? No. He's going to fucking prison.
The cop peeks into the room. "Done then?" he asks. "To the cell with you then."
Eggsy walks out of the police station, his eyes a little wide as he stares as Daisy. She's wailing like a fucking fire alarm, wringing little fists at his chest – all of two months old and usually doing little more than sleeping, she's not shut up since the social worker handed her over. Handed her over, to him, just before the cops told him to get out of there.
Dean had gone in and confessed, apparently.
"Baby, shh, shh, it's okay baby, we're okay," Eggsy croons to his sister, trying not to panic. He's got no fucking clue what just even happened – how the fuck he got out, how no one stopped him. Hell, he wasn't even asked any questions, just told to get his sister and go, and thank you. Not even a fucking explanation about… anything.
And what's worse, in his pocket there are a couple crumbled up papers he'd just shoved in there, which the social worker called guardianship forms or something like that. He's got a rough idea what that means for him and Daisy and that's about the most terrifying thing about this – right after his mum being dead, maybe.
But Dean's not there. Dean won't be there. Because Dean is apparently going jail. Not Eggsy. Because he went and confessed.
"The fuck just happened?" Eggsy asks his baby sister. "Daisy, what the fuck just happened?"
She hiccups at him, and keeps on wailing, and with a desperate little bounce Eggsy tries to soothe her a bit because people are staring and judging him, giving him the evil eye. He can almost figure what they see. Shitty little punk with a poor little baby. What's the world gone to?
"Eggsy," someone says and Eggsy looks up, half expecting another copper down to tell him that yeah, it's been a mistake, back to the cell with you. Except it not. It's some wanker in a fancy suit and sunglasses with a fucking brolly and everything.
Eggsy stares at him, Daisy wailing at his ear. "The fuck are you?" he then says and bounces Daisy gently, one hand at her neck to make sure she won't get jostled about too much.
"The man who got you released," the posh wanker says, watching him, eyes flickering between Daisy and him. "Would you like a lift home?"
The man who got him released? Fuck. Eggsy swallows and nudges his cheek against Daisy's head. "Don't got much of a home to go to," he says and shit – he has to deal with that too, doesn't he. The flat's in Dean's name and Dean's in prison and now he has to, what, get a new flat? Or at least he has to fucking pay for it – and it's not as if he has any money. Fucking shit.
"No, I don't suppose you would," the man says, considering him and then looking at Daisy.
"The fuck do you want anyway?" Eggsy asks suspiciously, and almost tilts away so that he's properly between the guy and Daisy. Now that he has her he ain't taking no chances with her, that's for fucking certain – he might have no idea what the hell to do, but whatever it was going to be, it was going to be his very fucking best. "Who the fuck are you? Why'd you do this – how'd you do… that?" he asks, nodding at the police station.
The man doesn't answer at first, just looking at him. "My name is Harry Hart and I did it because you asked me to," the man says and pushes away from the wall he's leaning again. "Your father saved my life and I gave you that medal – and with it the favour you just called."
"… Oh," Eggsy says.
The man smiles a crooked, not quite smug smile at him. "Your sister seems to be in some distress," he comments.
"She needs a change," Eggsy mutters, looking down at her. "And food. And probably sleep too."
"Hm. Well, seeing that you don't have much of a home to go to – may I buy you and the little lady some dinner?" Hart asks. "A restaurant bathroom should offer you a chance to change her."
Eggsy hesitates but Daisy's still wailing and people are staring and fuck it. He'd just gotten a miracle get-out-of-jail card. Might as well see how far it would take him. "Yeah, alright," he says. "Need to stop by and get everything, though," he adds. "Don't have nappies."
"That's quite alright," Hart agrees and walks past him. "Come along, Eggsy."
With an inhale and heavy sigh, Eggsy goes along.
They don't end up going to a restaurant after all – they stop by a super market and the customers there all give Eggsy the evil eye because Daisy just won't shut up. So the moment he's got everything picked out – and Hart's paid for it because apparently that was the plan all along – Eggsy goes to the supermarket toilet to clean and change Daisy.
It's weird as fuck, having the posh git in his posh suit looming about as he goes about changing the baby's nappy but fuck it. It was a fucking day, wasn't it? Might as well just go with it.
"'Ere you go," Eggsy murmurs to Daisy, doing everything he can to cheer her up a bit. "Nice and dry. Is that better?"
"You seem fairly adept at handling her," Hart commends thoughtfully, watching as Eggsy offers Daisy her binky and finally gets her to quiet her wailing into a disgruntled, exhausted grumbling instead.
"Used to baby sit when I was younger," Eggsy mumbles. And he's definitely taken care of Daisy more than fucking Dean has. "'E's not getting away wi' it, is he?" Eggsy asks, looking up. "Dean I mean. They're going to lock 'im up, won't they?"
"Mr. Baker will be in prison for a very long time," Hart promises him. "I assure you that."
"Thank fucking god," Eggsy sighs and picks Daisy up, kissing her forehead gently and then resting her against his chest, carefully supporting her head. She's almost worn out, the poor thing – it was just the hunger keeping her up now. That and the general exhaustion. "She needs some milk."
"Which we have bought," Hart says, casting a glance at the plastic bags full of groceries Eggsy had picked out, and he'd paid for. After he'd figured that Hart was paying, he'd rather gone to town with them.
Eggsy gives him a look. "Don't have a bottle and you don't go giving a baby cold formula," he says slowly and then looks at Daisy. She whimpers at him and he winces. "Probably should go home after all – got everything there," he says, rocking her a bit and then grimacing.
The idea of going back to the flat with his mother… not there, it doesn't appeal much. And fuck, there'd been talk of blood. There probably still was blood. If the police hadn't closed the flat up. Probably had, seeing that there was an investigation and all. "Fuck," he mutters. "Any chance we could swing by the Black Prince?" he asks then. "They got everything there."
"Certainly," Hart says with an amicable smile, and that's what they do – Eggsy carrying Daisy and Hart negotiating the bags of groceries. It was hilarious and weird, all of it, but Eggsy was flat out of fucks to give.
The bartender at the Black Prince takes one look at the feebly sobbing Daisy before just accepting the formula and getting out one of the bottles Michelle had left at the pub. Eggsy thanks the guy tiredly and settles down in the nearest booth to ease Daisy into a more comfortable position in his lap so that he can feed her.
"I'll have a pint of… no, actually," Hart glances at Eggsy and Daisy with a thoughtful look. "I don't suppose you have tea?"
It warms Eggsy right up to the bloke, him deciding not to drink in front of the baby. Not that anyone had ever given much of a fuck about that – Dean, his goons and his mother included. And it's not as if Daisy even understands. But it means a lot, that little bit of consideration.
They do have tea, and Hart even manages to smother his displeasure at the cheap brand as he sits across from Eggsy with a chipped tea mug in hand, tugging idly at the tea bag.
"Sorry, bruv," Eggsy says, not particularly sorry at all. "Not 'xactly your kind of place, innit?"
"It's quite fine," Hart says, watching him, watching Daisy dazedly suckling. It's kind of distracting, now that they're sort of comfortable and he's no longer panicking about going to jail or losing Daisy. He has her now – hell, he has her for the rest of her life, probably. Fuck.
"So you knew my dad?" Eggsy asks. "You was in the military with 'im, that it? Like an officer?"
"Not quite," Hart says thoughtfully, watching Daisy. "We worked together, though the details are classified, I'm afraid."
"'Course they are," Eggsy mutters. "But he saved your life, yeah?"
Hart smiles faintly at that. "He did. Your father was a good man," he then says, looking at Eggsy and fiddling with the tea bag label. His smile faded. "The day he died, I missed something. My mistake would've cost the lives of everyone there, my own included, if it wasn't for your father. So I owe him."
"Right," Eggsy agrees, looking at Daisy. Of course nothing was free, even something like this. Especially something like this. Still, he'd take a favour paid for by his father over no favour at all. He's got no idea what to do now, but fuck, at least he had the liberty to figure it out.
"Your father was a brave man," Hart murmurs, looking at Daisy. "A good man."
He looks like he's about to say something else, but instead he presses his lips tight together into a displeased frown and sips his tea.
"Things'd be a bit different if he was still here," Eggsy comments quietly, and eases the rubber teat from Daisy's mouth. She's falling asleep now, blowing milk bubbles as she yawns. He grins at her before taking the dish towel he'd gotten from the bar tender and laying it on his shoulder, following it up with disgruntled Daisy.
"Of that I have no doubt," Hart murmurs, watching him gently burp the baby, an odd look about his face.
Daisy hiccups and lets out a little whine – and then barfs all over the towel. Eggsy snorts at the face Hart makes and bounces the baby a couple more time until he's sure Daisy's good, and then he gently wipes her face before easing her back to his lap. She's out like a light inside a minute.
"Thanks," Eggsy says, folding the towel and making sure he didn't get any on himself. "For all of this. I mean, I know you didn't do it for me, precisely, but still. I got no idea what I'd've done if… fuck. Gone to jail, probably."
"Hmm," Hart agrees, leaning in and watching him fuss over Daisy. "Do you know what you're going to do now?"
"Not a fucking clue," Eggsy admits, leaning back a little. He doesn't have the money to look after Daisy properly. Sure he'd probably get social support and shit, like his mum used to get – but that hadn't been enough to deal with everything. That's why they'd needed Dean because Dean had a job, he'd been supporting them since fucking forever. Eggsy doesn't have that. He has no idea where they're even going to live from now on.
"Shit," Eggsy murmurs and runs a hand over his face. He kind of feels like getting a pint… but no. Not in front of Daisy. Not ever. "I don't suppose you could wave your magic wand again and give me another miracle?" Eggsy asks, turning to Hart.
"A miracle?" Hart asks slowly.
"Or whatever you fucking did. Influence, money, whatever," Eggsy says and waves a dismissive hand before looking at Daisy. "I don't have the means to look after Daisy right," he admits then, stroking a hand over his baby sister's head. "I'm going to fuck this up."
Hart watches him expressionlessly for a moment and then turns his attention to the tea mug.
"I guess that's bit too much to ask," Eggsy mutters, when he doesn't say anything. "Well. Thanks for what you did anyway. It's really fucking appreciated, yeah?"
"Quite," Hart says, still watching him, watching Daisy. Then leans back, crossing one leg over another. "Unfortunately I do not have a magic wand quite that capable – I can't simply conjure you a house to live in and a better life to lead," he says and he actually sounds honestly sorry about it. "But perhaps… I can offer you a job," he adds. "Which could come with a room."
Eggsy looks up, frowning. "Like?"
Hart smiles a little crookedly. "Due to my occupation I'm not home quite as often as I'd like," he says. "Normally I employ a house keeper to take care of things while I am away. But for a while now I have been looking for a… let's say, a valet."
"You fucking serious?" Eggsy asks, half laughing.
Hart shrugs with one shoulder, still watching him expressionlessly. "I've seen your records – unfortunate side effect of what I did for you today," he says. "You're not a stupid young man, whatever you are. Perhaps you could've made better choices with your life, but that's neither here nor there. You're skilled and quick to learn – whatever activities you've taken part of you've always mastered quickly, never mind how quick you were to give them up. I've no doubt you could learn this skill with equal talent."
"You're actually serious?" Eggsy asks. "Fucking… valet? Really? People still do that shit?"
Hart smiles crookedly at that. "People still do that shit, yes," he says.
"So, what'd that entail, then?"
"Mainly keeping the house while I am away – which would happen quite often and sometimes for extended periods of time," Hart says. "Taking care of minor issues – cleaning, maintenance of amenities, dealing with financial issues. Cooking, if you're amenable to it."
"Dressing you like in all of those old movies?" Eggsy asks, smothering a disbelieving little grin.
"Perhaps not that, but certainly doing some chores to that end – most of my clothing requires specialised care, it would ease my way if someone took care of the dry cleaning," Hart agreed thoughtfully. "I would of course have you sign a confidentiality agreement, but I trust you wouldn't have trouble with that?"
Eggsy snorts and shakes his head and then looks down at his sister. "And Daisy?"
Hart smiles down at her. "I'm quite sure there is room for her as well," he says.
"Mate, having a baby around is no easy gig," Eggsy says with another shake of his head. "She's messy and noisy and wakes something like eight times a night. It's a bloody nightmare."
"I'm certain it won't be a problem," Hart says and then adds, "Of course the rooms are sound proofed and further sound proofing may be added."
"Yes," the man nods with a smile and then looks at him expectantly. "What do you say, Eggsy?"
"Fucking… valet, Jesus," Eggsy says and thinks about it, looking at Daisy. It sounds suspicious as fuck – and fucking tempting too. He doesn't like the idea of being at someone's mercy like that again, Dean had been bad enough. But… so far Hart's been a hell of a lot better than Dean's ever been. And what choice has he got?
"Aren't you like a tailor?" Eggsy ask then. "How come you're away often if you're a tailor?"
"Kingsman tailors are quite sought after," Hart says with an amused little quirk at the corner of his lip. "You never know where we're needed."
"Right," Eggsy says dubiously. "A valet," he then repeats again. "You really serious about that? With room and everythin'?"
"And pay," Hart agrees. "What do you say?"
"I reserve the right to kick the shit out of you if you turn out to be a murderer or something," Eggsy warns him.
"As is your right," Hart says and drains the last of his tea. "Well then," he says and stands up. "Let us get your things and get you and your sister settled in. Come along, Eggsy."
With another disbelieving snort, Eggsy stands up. That's apparently going to be a thing now. Well, what was the worst thing that could happen? He'd already faced a future in prison and somehow gotten away from it. There was still a lot of shit to go over – his fucking mother… Jesus, there was a funeral and everything to consider. But for now…
Eggsy goes along.